


5 Times Clarke and Bellamy Loved Each Other Without Saying It (+ 1 Time They Did)

by reneedanis



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy Blake Loves Clarke Griffin, Bellarke, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Modern Setting Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, My First AO3 Post, bellamy loves clarke and nothing hurts, im not actually a writer so like, lmao i tried, lol, they love each other okay im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reneedanis/pseuds/reneedanis
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy love each other without needing to say it. But they should anyway.





	5 Times Clarke and Bellamy Loved Each Other Without Saying It (+ 1 Time They Did)

1.

 It starts in the before, when they were still Clarke and Bellamy instead of ClarkeandBellamy.

 

Clarke and Octavia are fresh and fast friends in their first week of college, being in someone’s space constantly can do that to people. They're each other’s comfort zone; their home base. The cement brick interior of their college dorm room is a safe space some kind of holy ground for the two of them when they’re out fighting to sort through the muck of college. Littering the carpet with broken hearts and highlighter caps.

 

The pre drinks are always in this room with just enough space to make their friends feel crowded in the good way, when you’re heart is almost too full. You come crying to this room. Everyone knows where they keep the spare key and the RA knows all their friends by name. It’s a neutral space, the kind that feels like a shaky little home, a tree house in your parent’s backyard.

 

Clarke sits alone on the edge of her bed, body facing Octavia’s side, a bowl of cereal resting in the space of her folded legs. She can see the fragments of Octavia’s life in the photos she stuck up. Sees her smiling wide with varying numbers of teeth, the boy at her side always constant, gaining freckles for the teeth O looses. Clarke lets herself smile, wonders if the photos feel as warm as they look, all bathed in sunshine, yellowing at the corners. Bellamy is just another of Octavia’s constants.

 

There’s boxing gloves and hairspray cans on the floor. A couple of condoms and some dry shampoo next to an astrology chart. All the puzzle pieces that click together so nicely together to form Octavia. Today has been a long day and she’s happy to be in this room surrounded by all the pieces.

 

There’s a repetitive thud against the door. She wouldn’t really call it a knock more like someone banging their head against the frame. When she opens it Bellamy all but falls through the gap from the way he’s body has been slumped against the door.

 

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks in confusion.

 

“I’m wounded, surely you remember me by now Princess.” His smirk is less convincing than normal, more blurry like it’s an effort to even open his mouth. His feet shuffle against the carpet, hanging his head like it’s too heavy for his neck. She’s surprised his glasses don’t slip off his nose. His hair is a mop on top of his head like he hasn’t washed it for a few days too long. His beard is coming in rough around his jawline and insomnia has left her mark in two large bruises under his eyes.

She tilts her head to the side and regards him quizzically. Relishes in the way his cheeks grow a little more pink under her gaze as he fiddles with the edges of his frames.

 

“You look like shit.” she says bluntly.

 

He laughs, warm and deep, pushing his glasses more comfortably up his face. “I can leave if you’re busy.” he trails off slowly checking out her now soggy cereal and unopened chemistry text book at the foot of her bed.

 

“Big Thursday night plans obviously.” his voice is light. It’s taken her a few tries but she knows now he’s not making fun of her. Well he is but not to make her feel small, just to remind her that she can laugh at herself.

 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Obviously that’s why you’re standing in your little sister’s dorm at 9.30pm chatting to her roomie.”

 

“Bestie you know she hates it when you demote yourself to roomie.”

 

Clarke’s heart warms at his offhanded comment, she’s never really been good at having friends much less a best one, can count the ones she’s got on one hand with some fingers left over.

 

“Bellamy.” She says his name somewhere between a question and an attempt to get his attention.

 

“It’s nothing it’s just-“

 

“Saying it’s nothing makes me think it’s not nothing.”

 

He smirks like he’s holding out on smiling “Such a worrier” he says under his breath.

 

“It really is nothing I’ve been sexiled from my room and I can’t concentrate on my ancient greek translation with Miller sucking face with Bryan from his accounting 306 class or Miller trying to find accounting puns to flirt with Bryan from accounting 306 so I stayed on Murphy’s couch last night and now my back is sore and I can’t remember where my contacts are and I don’t know if my leg is actually itchy or if it’s a mental thing from sleeping on Murphy’s couch but I just needed some neutral territory for a second to catch my breath and maybe do my translation.”

 

She blinks at him before grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside softly before closing the door. A laugh bubbles its way out her chest a low and slow rumbling like thunder, or the sound of a wave crashing over you when you’re in the ocean. She looks at him with unabashed fondness aware of how dorky her grin must be, all teeth and no bite.

 

She gestures from him to lay stomach down on her single mattress before scourging around for her laptop. She pulls up Bob Ross on Netflix and turns out the lights before pulling her throw over the top of both of them, head resting on her hands.

 

She feels Bellamy’s gaze on her face, heavy. “Octavia never waits to see the end result of these and I need someone to appreciate Bob Ross with me.”

When he doesn’t respond she turns the volume down two bars lower, then the brightness and settles into the darkness, and the soft melody of Bob’s voice through the speakers.

 

Bellamy’s smile is lazy and fond. It takes her straight to summer time, driving down a highway to the ocean with her dad, hands hanging out the window and smiling into the sunshine. It takes her to Christmas and his hot chocolate when the snow starts to fall. It takes her to here, with him, under this blanket smiling at each other as Bob talks about happy trees and paints like there’s nothing a bunch of colour can’t fix.

 

“I love Bob Ross.” He doesn’t say it but she hears his thank you all the same.

 

2.

 

There’s too much smoke in the room for Clarke’s liking, her fingers are turning white along the corners of her solo cup. It’s long been emptied but there’s a weight in the base of her stomach. The boy next to her slips his hand over her left thigh and her teeth grind together. She knows she asked him to dance, has been flirting all night but now that the room is still again it’s too quiet and she can’t bring herself to lower her shoulders. His hand is clammy on her bare skin as she feels her claws start to reveal themselves.

 

It’s not Octavia’s fault, she knows that, it’s just that if she hadn’t dragged her out of their dorm room she wouldn’t have to be dealing with this shit. Fucking Finn Collins. His breath is hot in her ear, making her body naturally recoil from him.

 

“Come on babe you need to loosen up.” He drawls, making something inside of her snap.

 

He’s not the first person to say that to her but with the smoke and the beer and the weight in her stomach it’s all too much right now. She rises to her feet abruptly and lets her muscle memory take her into the kitchen where a dude in a backwards baseball cap and muscle tee controls the keg. She downs her next beer quickly, body shuddering at how gross warm beer is before looking around for something stronger to throw back.

 

Half an hour later Clarke is lying on the damp grass in the front of the house. She doesn’t remember whose it is, it doesn’t matter anyway. Her hair is getting wet at the back of her skull but she doesn’t move. She’s letting her hands reach out in front of her as if she’ll be able to touch the stars if she reaches far enough. The world is slipping a little bit, side to side like she’s in a boat. The night sky is just like the ocean if she really thinks about it.

 

“How do you reckon?” a deep voice comes from beside her toes.

 

When she opens her eyes – when did she even close them – she sees Bellamy silhouetted against the moon. He looks like he belongs up there with all the constellations, all the stories and legends and light, so much light in space really.

 

Her breath comes out in the mix of a scoff and a snort.

 

“Any reason you’re lying on the grass?” his voice is cautiously light, he’s trying to stay calm but she knows he’s a worrier, will be wondering why she’s out here with only the stars for company. Poor Bellamy having to take care of everyone all the time, who takes care of him.

 

She’s talking out loud again without realizing; misses the soft smile that spreads across Bellamy’s face. He lands beside her on the grass with a soft thud, sits cross-legged by her head. She lolls to the side lazily, almost too lethargic to reach him. His fingers itch to brush the hair away from her face.

 

She huffs a breath to push some hair out of her eyes so she can see him clearly. His eyes are warm and she shivers suddenly, not sure if it’s from the cold or the way she can feel his body heat radiating off his side.

 

She rests her forehead on his kneecap. It’s not particularly comfortable but she likes an excuse to touch him. “Why is it so hard to be a person.” She whispers against a seam in his jeans.

 

Bellamy frowns down at her, hesitates before letting his fingers card slowly through her golden waves, pauses for a beat before responding.

 

“I think you’re trying to be who you think people want you to be and that’s why it’s so hard.” He’s speaking to her softly, matching the quietness around them. It’s almost like having an out of body experience the way she can hear the song that’s playing inside floating down towards them, seeing life through a screen door instead of living it.

 

It’s something she’s always struggled with. Always been too serious, never knowing how to cut loose, cut loose too much and ending up horizontal and damp on the grass outside laying on your best friend’s brother when it all catches up to you. The world starts to spin a little faster.

 

“Everyone tells me how I should be.” she starts quietly “I don’t like to disappoint people.”

 

Bellamy’s hand stutters through her hair, she thinks he’s probably caught a knot but it’s nice, the movement of his hand in her hair. It reminds her of being underneath a stream of water, the comfort of its heaviness.

“No one is asking you to be anything more than exactly who you are. And if they want something that isn’t that then they're idiots, because who are you- Clarke you’re the best kind of person there is.” His voice crackles slightly around her name, the first half of a firework before the whole explosion. Her cheeks warm against his leg, she presses her lips together before she does something stupid like kiss his knee.

 

“People think that you need to let yourself breathe every once in a while” he continues slowly. “No one that matters is asking you to be anything more than who you are.”

 

It’s like the moon is listening to them talk, watching the way Bellamy places tape over Clarke’s wounds. He lets his hand rest against her scalp, still so warm and solid and comforting against her. She’s thankful for the way he’s here beneath her, sure and constant. Her heart tightens in her chest as she thinks to herself that maybe this is what loving someone feels like.

 

3.

 

It’s 9.15pm on a Saturday and Clarke is nursing her something-th glass of wine in one hand while her other runs gently through Octavia’s hair. She’s tired herself out from crying, one hand brushing the rug in Clarke’s living room out to the world.

 

They’re older and wiser now but that doesn’t make heartbreak hurt any less than when they were 18. This time it means more because of how much more she knows, she knows he said the things he did to hurt her. It’s different in a more complicated way.

 

Their safe place has moved a little west but it’s still theirs. The place for drinking and crying and laughing. Somehow Clarke finds her flat at the centre of their little solar system, she won’t even pretend she minds.

 

“It’s because you live alone.” Raven tells her around a mouth full of pancakes at her kitchen sink one day. “The rest of us have to suffer with people and socializing. Developing our character through passive aggression and poverty. You’re really missing out.”

 

That’s why Octavia has left snot and tears all over her favourite pajama pants, why she doesn’t know who went home on Masterchef tonight even though it’s her favourite, why half her favourite wine is currently glowing out of Octavia’s red cheeks.

 

Clarke runs the back of her finger through the crease in Octavia’s forehead, watches it smooth out as she sighs. She wiggles on Clarke’s lap uncomfortably before settling again with a snore. Clarke smiles softly, glad she’s finally resting.

 

Her phone starts to vibrate aggressively on the couch beside her. She swears, putting down her wine glass, careful not to shift Octavia. She checks the caller id quickly before rolling her eyes.

 

“What?” she hisses through the receiver.

 

Bellamy is silent for a beat.

 

“She’s with you then? Miller told me what happened.” His voice is heavy with tiredness. He is a soft rainfall when there is thunder lashing behind him, there's too much background noise for him to stop.

 

“Yeah, she’s with me.” Clarke whispers through the phone. She feels her fingers grasp at the lining of the fabric underneath her, wishing she could hold his hand instead.

 

There are a million things she wants to say.

 

‘You don’t have to be the one to catch her every time she stumbles, there are more of us here for her now’

 

‘She’s going to trip sometimes, it doesn’t mean she’s failing, it doesn’t mean you failed her, it’s life’

 

‘I tried to hug her in the way that you do but I don’t think my arms are as warm as yours’

 

‘You couldn’t have stopped her from feeling this’

 

But they’re all too much so she waits, hides behind the way she can hear his breathing through the line, filling the room without even being here. Her heart aches for him in a different way than it does for the girl in her lap. She aches for the broken hearted and the one that wants to take the pain away. She brushes some hair away from Octavia’s forehead in compromise.

 

“I’m glad.” He whispers eventually.

 

She smiles gently, even though he can’t see it. Bellamy is a worrier. He likes to bare everything himself to shield it from hurting others, but things don’t always work out in his favour. There are some feelings you have to feel. Sometimes life is a sieve, his fingers are there for all the big stuff but things still slip through. Clarke can’t take that away from him, wouldn’t want to even if she could because it’s so inherently Bellamy.

 

He doesn’t always trust people easily with the things he loves, but he trusts her with his baby sister. It means a lot.

 

The phone line is quiet as she listens to her family breathing around her. Warm and broken but here, in this room together.

 

“I’m glad she has you looking out for her.”

 

“Well I learned from the best.” She whispers back, settling into the silence around her. She doesn’t end the call despite the fact that neither of them are talking.

 

4.

 

Clarke’s floor is full of her favourite people. Raven is draped over the rug on her floor as if she was sown into it. Monty is leaning with his back against Clarke’s legs, letting her card her fingers through his hair, Miller’s hand light on Monty’s palm. Jasper is stacked wonkily against Maya. Octavia sits in Lincoln’s lap, paying the room no mind, and Clarke’s heart is full.

 

She looks to Bellamy, meets his gaze across the room and smiles slowly at him, lets it take up her whole face. Her eyes feel shiny under the fairy light and her heart is steady. She can feel everyone in here and she’s so inexplicably happy, wouldn’t want them to be anywhere else. Bellamy catches her eye again, creases his forehead in question at her. She smiles at him shyly, waves him off with a gesture around the room in explanation.

 

These people and this moonlight and this quilt they’ve sown together, maintained through tears and rainstorms and rising temperatures. This tight-knit, interwoven clusterfuck of humanity that exists as a family, the chosen kind, that remind her what it’s like to be loved consistently, constantly; without any judgment.

 

He reads her like his mother’s recipe book, all familiar and torn pages in handwriting only he can decipher. His face melts open like her best watercolour paints, yellow and orange and sunshine and so fucking warm. He nods his head towards the kitchen behind them, gestures for her to follow him. She runs her fingers through Monty’s hair before standing up around him, he whines softly from the back of his throat in protest.

 

She smirks down at him, blonde waves brushing his cheek as she leans between him and Miller before grabbing Miller’s wrist that’s sitting in Monty’s open palm.

 

“Miller can take over for me.” She deposits his hand on the nape of Monty’s neck before leaving the room swiftly, grinning at her feet as she makes her way to the kitchen.

 

“What are you smirking at?” Bellamy questions, hip propped against the sink, fits in like he’s part of the counter. He’s balancing a spoon and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s in his hands, the one with the fudge and cookie dough – her favourite.

 

She doesn’t know how to tell him that there is a universe inside of her. That her body is humming. There are pieces of her that settle into place whenever her family is together like this. That a lot of that comes from him. This constant in her life, a rock on the shoreline that gets hit by water again and again and again but stays solid, braces all the storms thrown its way.

 

“Monty and Miller being Monty and Miller.”

 

He huffs out a laugh as she jumps up on the counter beside him, grabs the spoon out of his hand for a bite.

 

“What’s this for anyway you think it’s overrated.” She dribbles through the ice cream.

 

Bellamy shrugs plainly. “Saw it and thought of you.”

 

She beams around the spoon, kicks her feet against the cabinet underneath her before leaning down right in Bellamy’s face. She takes the spoon out of her mouth before dropping a chaste kiss to his cheek. His stubble is rough under her chin, like a gravel road out to the beach in the summertime.

 

“Thank you.” She says faintly. The room isn’t quiet; the conversation of their friends in the room over floats through to them in the kitchen but it feels like the two of them are alone in the house. She traces the constellations across his face with her eyes, drinking in every bit of him. The room is heavy with something she can’t place she just knows it’s him that’s making her feel it. It’s like wearing a jacket she needs to take off.

 

His eyes are roaming around her face too. She thinks she catches him landing on her mouth but she can’t be sure of it, doesn’t even seriously consider it. He chances a glance over her shoulder, making her turn to look. She sees their family meshed together, heads thrown back in laughter at an indignant looking Jasper. It’s a perfect, cringe-worthy hallmark moment and she loves every second of it.

 

“You know it’s all because of you right?”

 

Clarke whips her head back around to face him, forehead already scrunched in question.

 

“What is?”

 

He snorts, “All that, in there, that’s all you.”

 

That makes her pause, she looks to the lounge before turning back to him, “I don’t understand.” Genuinely at a loss of where he’s going with this.

 

He pauses, seeming to struggle to get the words to fit.

 

“Without you I don’t think these people would be in there as carefree as they are now. After Raven’s accident, and all of Jasper and Monty’s fighting and Octavia’s rebellion, Miller and Bryan’s breakup, I don’t know it was hard to see this light at the end of it all, it just felt like life didn’t want us to all be here.” He takes in a deep breath. “But you did. You always did. Always came and picked everyone up off the ground and dusted us off and brought us back home together.” He moves his gaze around the room, the photos on the fridge, the shoes on the floor, the rubbish bin, refusing to land them on her. “You always say that you’re so lucky to have all of us and that’s great but we’re all lucky to have you too. All the love in that room is a testament to the love you’ve given to all of us.”

 

Clarke’s eyes are on her feet, the nails are painted blue and she’s wearing her fluffy pink slides. She can see her chest rising and falling, can feel her hair curtaining her face, can feel the blood rushing through her body the way the oil rushes in her car on the early mornings, threatening to flood the engine. The crease on her forehead is a canyon.

 

“It’s all of us.” she starts, gingerly “We’re a family, that’s what families do, they love each other, and they stand by each other. It’s what we do.”

 

It’s almost there, almost slips out easily right after. That she loves him, because she does. Very much, has for so long she doesn’t know how not to. She shouldn’t but she does and she will.

 

His fingers creep over hers, slowly enveloping them in his warmth. She swears this boy is connected to the sun somehow it’s the only explanation for how he’s consistently warm.

 

Soon their fingers are all linked together. Clarke smiles at him under her lashes, with the left side of her mouth. He brings their hands to his lips, kisses her hand once, twice, leaves their fingers twisted together.

 

Their friends’ laughter bounces through the walls towards them, Bellamy’s fingers rough between hers. She feels everything all at once, the top of the roller coaster. She leans her head against Bellamy’s shoulder having another go at the ice cream, absorbing every inch of this moment she can, hopes it stays in her memory exactly the way it is with sticky, clammy hands and melting ice cream.

 

5.

 

It all comes to a head on a Friday night. It creeps up on Clarke when she’s not paying attention, catches her with her back turned flirting lightly with a cute guy at the bar. The thing with Clarke is that she’s had the time to realise how she feels for Bellamy. Has thought about it too much to bother lying to herself about it anymore.

 

She knows her feelings aren’t platonic, there’s no coincidence in the way they find each other in crowded rooms and empty spaces. There’s a reason why her hands feel empty when he’s not holding them, why he’s at the top of all her recent lists, why he’s the one she always wants to talk to and listen to and just be next to. She gets it.

 

But the risk is too high for her if he doesn’t feel the same way. They're best friends - a joke between him and his sister, “you always have to try and take what’s mine don’t you Bell.” Octavia teased.

 

But she’s not far off, she was Octavia’s first but it’s her and Bellamy now that are the space, the neutral territory, the two that will always have your back and let you sleep on their couch. They feed you coffee in the morning – Bellamy will cook you breakfast. He makes her better. She’s lost enough family that she won’t risk loosing him too over something as silly as how her shoulders only fully relax when he’s beside her.

 

She’s ordering another round for her friends back in their usual booth and the guy’s sweet and snarky, confident in a way that’s toeing the line of being arrogant. Her smile is easy as he asks her how her night’s going and she falls into the conversation.

 

She senses someone looking at her over her shoulder, knows already before she turns to look that she’ll be met with Bellamy’s frown. He meets her eyes before glancing at the dude beside her, Michael? Mitchell? She can’t quite remember, gives her an unimpressed look. She frowns back in question, rolls her eyes before going back to the conversation.

 

Bellamy’s hand grips the wood of the table in front of him, his knuckles going white with tension. It’s pulsing off him as he watches Clarke let out a soft laugh. Clarke, laughing at some douchebag hitting on her with his eyes trained on her chest. There’s a heat in his ribs he can’t explain before turning hastily, grip too tight on the neck of his beer bottle at war with the part of him that wants to stand in between the two of them and take her attention off the stranger and the part of him – the larger part – that knows he has no right.

 

Clarke feels the heat of his gaze on her and can’t help the stutter in her chest. She’s flirting easily with Matt (? she still doesn’t know his name), looks at him under her lashes, pushes her tits up so they show nicely in her top. He trails off a laugh at the last thing she said before leaning in to whisper in her ear.

 

“I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear but that guy in the booth looks like he’s about to have an aneurism or throw his bottle at my head.”

 

Clarke doesn’t need to chance the glance over her shoulder to know who he’s referring to. She sighs lightly, at loss of what to say, the lines are too blurry and it’s not the right kind of conversation to have with someone you’re trying to maybe make out with.

 

The guy smiles tightly at her silence, writes his number on a napkin on the bar before sliding it over to her. “Let me know if that doesn’t work out, I’d be interested in getting to know you better.” He raises his bottle in cheers to her before brushing his hand down her arm and walking away.

 

She takes a minute to breathe deeply into her lungs and she’s suddenly so angry. There’s white static coursing through her and she’s so frustrated and tired. She’s just really, really tired. She drags her feet back to the booth before sliding in opposite Bellamy, doesn’t meet his gaze across the table.

 

“Dude how did you fuck that up, that guy was practically drooling on that counter over you.” Raven says, her voice bouncing around a laugh.

 

Monty loops his arm around her neck, pulls her into his chest but she can’t relax into it.

 

“She’s too good for randoms at the bar.”

 

“Nah she just got cockblocked too hard with Bell’s glaring.” Octavia slurs from the centre of the booth. She’s flanked by Lincoln and Miller, preening under Bellamy’s glare.

 

“Why would you say something so controversial yet so brave.” Monty laughs, she feels the vibration through his chest and it’s just a bit much right now. Because it’s not like that, they’re not like that. She pushes away from Monty.

 

“I need some air.” She announces to the table before legging it to the door.

 

The air outside is cold, crisper than she thought but it wakes her up a little, helps her gain her footing against the alcohol in her system.

 

She hears the door open behind her, doesn’t turn to see who it is - she’s got a feeling she already knows.

 

“Uh sorry for you know... that.” He trails off without saying anything and the static is back to being thick in her veins. He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other scratching the back of his neck. She can’t relax the tension in her back.

 

His hand is warm on the top of her spine. She hits his hand away lightly, steps out of his reach. His hand hangs awkwardly in the air, lost without her to land on.

 

“Wow okay I didn’t realise it was that important to you.” He says bitterness leaking into his tone and she just can’t help herself.

 

“It’s not like that and you know it.” her voice is a hail storm against him.

 

He looks surprised for a second before his face clouds over.

 

“Obviously it is since you’re so butt hurt about it, I can go find him if you like, tell him it’s all go for the rest of the night. Oh wait I don’t need to because he gave you his number how nice you can spend some proper time together.”

 

She doesn’t know if she’s ever rolled her eyes as aggressively as she does in that moment.

 

“And you say I’m the one that’s butt hurt, how about you you’re literally acting like a child right now. I’m not some toy he stole off you during recess Bellamy. A cute guy was flirting with me so I was going with it and you throw a tantrum and glare at him across the room until he leaves me alone what the fuck is that, are you five?”

 

“It’s not like that”

 

“Then please, tell me what it is like.”

 

The stand in silence, glaring at each other under the neon hue of the bar sign. The pavement is shining in the streetlight. Clarke rubs her lips together waiting from him to say something. The silence is getting heavier.

 

“Because it feels like there’s something you’re not saying right now.” her voice is slow, she keeps her tone even, steady, trying not to rock the boat too hard. “So if there is, I’d really like to hear it.” It’s an opening or an out depending on how he takes it, she’s lending as much of a hand as she can. She’s reaching over the side of her dinghy to him, trying to get him to grab her hand before this tidal wave drowns them both.

 

His eyes are wide across from her. She’s still standing just out of his reach and his fingers stretch at his sides, relax again without even reaching for her.

 

“You know I always look out for you it’s not- I’m not trying to” his voice is tight like his throat isn’t opening enough to let part of him out, but it’s not letting her in at the same time.

 

He blinks, drops her gaze and looks down at his feet. “Do whatever you want Clarke.”

 

She sniffs at the cold air, wraps her arms tightly around her waist. “Right.” she whispers. The wave knocks her off balance. There was a moment - there have been a lot of moments - that have built her expectation where she thought maybe, just maybe, he felt what she was feeling. There’s so much of it that she’s surprised they don’t get electric shocks every time they come in contact with each other.

 

She was so stupid to think it would ever have been anything else. It’s like Jane Austen wrote, ‘to hope is to expect’, now she’s standing outside this bar on a Thursday night with her heart bleeding out of her shoes and her expectation laying around her in a puddle.

 

She looks up into the night sky, wills her heart to chill out, and tries to find her stomach on the pavement. She rolls her shoulders back, stands up a little straighter before nodding at Bellamy, smiling at him tightly as she makes her way back towards the door.

 

His hands trails down her forearm, willing her to pause. She halts mid step, looks down at the pavement behind her, catches his feet in his gaze.

 

“Clarke.” He whispers, his voice catching on every single letter. It says too much and not enough all at once. She takes a deep breath before turning to face him.

 

His eyes are shining as his gaze races around her face. They’re on the cusp of something here. There’s heaviness around them, the kind of energy that happens just before a downpour.

 

Clarke doesn’t take risks. She is calculating and smart; she values logic and likes to pick things apart so she can understand them inside out. She likes the feeling of knowledge like dirt under her fingernails. But this thing, these feelings are something she doesn’t touch, can’t touch. She doesn’t believe in soulmates, but she thinks they really could’ve been made for each other at some point down the line. There’s a part of the universe that lets people have gifts like the way Bellamy knows her better than she knows herself. The way she loves the parts of him that sunlight doesn’t hit. So she throws herself into the undertow, let’s the current drag it out of her.

 

“You are the most important person in my life.” She tries to wring out her voice a little before continuing, let the emotion drip out of it. “You’re my absolute favourite person in the world. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe properly with how much I feel this, I’m not good at feeling things but it all feels so right when I’m with you, you know. It just blocks out all the static and it’s just the kind of white noise that’s so warm. You just- you know exactly the person that I am and you stick around for all the messy, loud, soft, stupid versions of me.

 

Bellamy you’re just- you're the absolute fucking best person, you’re everything to me. The fact that you think some guy in a bar comes even remotely close to you is ridiculous, no one ever even scratches the surface.” She can’t look at him, she can’t do it, she won’t “I think that I could live a thousand lives and never find someone that fits against me as well as you do Bell. You just- it’s all you.”

 

Her heart is thumping in her chest, in her ears, her thumbs, her toes, it’s everywhere it feels like she’s vibrating with it. They just stand there, his hand loose around her arm but he’s not saying anything. He’s not saying anything. The air is settling and her words are floating in the air between them and he’s still not saying anything.

 

Her faces flames red, she takes the step forward she meant to before. “I’m so- I’m sorry just forget- it doesn’t matter- it’s not- I don’t” she can’t get a full comprehensive sentence out. She’s mortified, ready for the ground to just swallow her right the fuck up and he still doesn’t say anything.

 

She breaks out his grip on her arm easily and he lets her go as she practically marches inside.

 

The empty presence beside her is jarring to her friends, she can see it in the way their eyes dart between her and the door and back again. It stings to even think about. Her and Bellamy, always such a two and now she’s ruined it.

 

Raven meets her gaze, a look of worry flashes across her face, tight and sharp like all of Raven’s angles are. Clarke rushes to grab her jacket and bag.

 

She can’t stay here she needs to not exist, needs to go home and lock the door and close the curtains and never leave again. She can’t think her heartbeat is still too loud in her ears she feels like she’s underwater.

 

Raven places a hand on her arm, brings her back to earth for a second. She whispers Clarke’s name as a worried question but she’s speechless. There are no words that can possibly explain the fact that she’s probably just ruined one of - if not the - best friendships she’s ever had in her life. There’s a hurricane brewing behind her eyes and she just needs to be alone in the darkness. Needs to remember how to breathe, needs about eight bottles of wine to get through this. There aren’t any words to explain the way she feels like she’s been run over by a truck and run a marathon and sailed her little dinghy straight into the rocks. She hates it, hates the way she feels hot and cold and blue, so blue right now.

 

She shakes her head microscopically at Raven. Doesn’t even try and open her mouth.

 

“I’ll come with you.” she whispers and God she loves her friends, loves them so much her heart is literally overflowing with how much she loves them. But she can’t be around them right now. She shakes her head again, gulps down the salt water that’s scratching her throat.

 

“I’ll be okay, I just need to go.”

 

Raven doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll come with you,” she says again, throwing Clarke a buoy, a life jacket, a helping hand. But she can’t take it, sniffs and steps away from the booth.

 

“I’ve gotta go Rae.” She leans in quickly, kisses her cheek and waves half-heartedly to everyone else. The smile she sends the table is watery. Everyone glances at each other in question, frowns at her, furrows their eyebrows.

 

Bellamy still hasn’t come inside. Everyone is questioning her silently.

 

‘Let us come with you.’

 

‘Are you okay?’

 

‘What do you need?’

 

‘Take my hand, let me help you.’

 

She ignores all of them, blows the table a single a kiss and walks towards the back exit into the night, doesn’t even chance seeing him standing outside where she left him. Doesn’t stop to see whether he’s rooted to the spot or gone home.

 

Her walk home is on uneven terrain, water fills her shoes and she’s too cold in the night air. Her eyes well up as she thinks how this walk would normally go, stumbling down the street, Bellamy beside her waiting to catch her.

 

The dam breaks letting the ocean pour out of her silently.

 

\+ 1

 

Clarke wakes up to a noise in her kitchen. She guesses she should be alarmed but the fact that she’s laying on something hard and cold kind of takes precedent in her life first. There’s a blanket cocooned around her but she’s definitely in her bathroom, asleep in her bath specifically, because she is an adult who deals with feelings effectively by drinking herself into a stupor alone in her apartment. It’s fine, this is fine.

 

She figures Raven has let herself in to check that Clarke made it home, she can’t remember if she texted when she got home. Her stomach turns and she knows it’s not because of the wine. She slouches forward, tries to take a few deep breaths before finding her feet.

 

There’s the sound of something sizzling coming from the kitchen; she can hear the churning of her old coffee pot. Not an intruder at least, she doesn’t think she could physically deal with that right now.

 

She shuffles slowly into the kitchen, letting her fuzzy socks slide her way onto the wooden floor. They’re her favourite ones and she definitely did not put them on herself last night. She blinks the sleep out of her eyes, needing her glasses.

 

“Rae are you seriously cooking me breakfast?” She clambers around the counter, hitting the surface repeatedly looking for her glasses. “Because things are bad but I don’t know if they’re that bad.”

 

A blurry but tanned arm holds them out to her. She takes them, grunting in thanks before rubbing her eyes and sliding them on.

 

It would be comical really how wide her eyes go. She genuinely feels like the floor as split open, the room has tilted sideways, this is not reality right now. There’s just an alarm bell blaring in her head, her fight or flight response glowing flight in bright red letters.

 

Bellamy has the decency to look sheepish, the tips of his ears turning faintly pink. The clock on the oven reads 9.26 and Clarke feels tension thick as lead crawl through her spine.

 

“I uh- thought you could use some breakfast?” he phrases it like a question but Clarke who is one third hungover, one third sleep deprived and one third just metaphysically checked out doesn’t really hear him.

 

“You know soak up some of that alcohol and I came over last night to talk to you but you wouldn’t open the door so I used my key and you were sitting in the bath under the shower like you waiting for the water to come on and you refused to move and I went to get your socks and then you just passed out so I tried to wrap you in that blanket you should really get a seat for the bathroom or maybe one of those really big pillows you sit on your floor is really uncomfortable my back is so tight now but uh” he trails off.

 

She’s just blinking at him, letting him ramble on. She figures there’s something she should be saying. “I’m not awake enough to do this.” she says under her breath.

 

He turns back to the stove abruptly like she’s hit him with a burst of electricity. There’s a hum in the room, the weight of everything they’re not saying drags on the floor behind her.

 

‘I didn’t mean it’

 

‘I’m sorry for what I said’

 

‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you again’

 

She’s almost sleep deprived enough to hide her face between his shoulder blades like she really wants to. What she wants is to rewind all of this, take it all back and just pretend that everything’s in the place she’s used to, where her feet can touch the bottom, where the water’s shallow enough to still be warm from the sun being able to reach all it. It feels like she’s looking into this moment from outside - looking through the peephole from the wrong side.

 

He starts loading up a plate with pancakes. Slices lemons, pours coffee into cups. She grabs plates and cutlery, gets the creamer out of the fridge with the orange juice. Reaches for the strawberries he bought her, grabs a couple of bananas.

 

It’s all painfully domestic and normal.

 

She folds her legs under herself the table, throws lemon juice and sugar over a pancake before shoving it in her mouth. Chewing takes up more effort than it should right now, her eyelids are butterfly wings in the springtime.

 

Bellamy smirks at her from the seat adjacent to hers, sipping quietly on his coffee. She knows he’s happy to see her eating like the caregiver he is.

 

“Such a mother hen.” she mumbles through her mouthful of pancake.

 

He snorts on the edge of his coffee mug. “Such a lady” he says, his tone playful.

 

They eat in relative silence before her eyes catch the light more steadily. The waves in her stomach settle before being over taken by an anchor of dread.

 

Bellamy notices the change in her, as he always fucking does, his fingers tightening around his mug.

 

“We have to talk this out Clarke.” his voice is her childhood bed sheets, a soft cloud of warmth.

 

There’s such a large part of her that screams ‘nope, let’s just pretend nothing ever changed, that I never opened my mouth and left those broken shards of glass at your feet. Let’s ignore that those cuts on your hands are from you trying your best to pick them and put them back into place. Don’t treat me like a mosaic, let’s take it all back a few hours, let the dust settle over this memory.’ But she can’t, because he’s right and if they don’t sort this out there’s no way she’s ever going to be able to sit in the same room as him again. As much she’d rather be dragged over gravel than have this conversation, she’d also rather suffer through it than say goodbye to him forever.

 

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.” his voice his so rough it’s like she can feel the texture of it on her skin.

 

It’s just the fucking worst thing to have to sit there and listen. Because she cares about him and what he has to say, knows that he’ll still be here for her regardless. It’s just so embarrassing to have to clean your broken heart off your best friend’s hands after he’s the one that crushed it.

 

“There’s a lot I didn’t say yesterday that I should’ve. You gave me the chance and I just – I let you down so badly and I’ll never – I’m so sorry for doing that to you.”

 

“You can’t help how you feel Bellamy, you don’t have to prove anything to me.” she can’t raise her voice above a whisper, knows there’ll be scratches on her windpipe tomorrow if she does.

 

He clears his throat, “The thing is that I do. I do have something to prove to you. I have to – you’ve got to know Clarke everything you said it’s exactly how I feel about you.”

 

She swears her heart stops beating for too long at those words.

 

“It’s the cringiest thing but I think about you all the time. Constantly. No matter where I am it’s always ‘Clarke would love that’ or ‘I’ve gotta text that to Clarke’ or ‘I wonder what Clarke’s doing’ it’s insane ‘has she eaten a piece of fucking fruit today’. And I just - the fact that you don’t see this family that you’ve created and the impact you have on everyone’s lives drives me crazy because you’re so important to everyone but you’re just… God you’re just the best fucking person.

 

“You’re an idiot and you’re an absolute mess, you wouldn’t even eat vegetables if I didn’t buy them for you, and you never have any fucking matching socks which you know drives me crazy and I just - I can’t picture any of my life where you’re not in it. I need you there to laugh at me or tell me that I’m wrong and to know what I need before I even know myself. I don’t want to picture my life without it because it sounds like the most boring thing.

 

“I wouldn’t be the person that I am without you standing beside me. You’re just – you’re it you know. And when that guy started flirting with you I don’t know this part of me just went off because it was just - it’s all you, everything, it’s you, it’s all you.”

 

She’s staring at him, eyes wide, watches his throat work as silence falls over them. Her mind is racing but she’s coming up blank for the words so she decides against it, slides right off her chair and crawls into his lap wrapping her legs around him. His hands settle on the side of her waist, warm and rough. He’s looking directly into her eyes; makes her feel transparent in the best way, like looking through a glass bottom boat.

 

She hears him swallow, could count the freckles across his nose if she wanted to. Relishes in the way she can smell him, feel the heat radiating off his skin. She’s balanced and happy, nudges his nose with hers before leaning down to catch his lips against hers. She grazes his mouth softly, barely pressing her smile against his, pulls back enough to whisper “I love you” before firmly bringing her lips to his.

 

She says it through a breath. Like steam rolling off her morning coffee. Lights up at the way her heart beats stronger afterwards.

 

Bellamy circles his arms around her firmly. Runs the pads of his fingers against the skin of her back, kisses her like he means it. She leans forward into his lap, can’t help the smile that beams across her face when he groans, deep from the back of his throat.

 

He pulls back enough to brush his nose against hers, smiles so wide she can see all his teeth. He’s so beautiful, face full of warmth and love and it’s for her. “I love you so fucking much.” his breath warm on her face just like his words. She smiles wider than the horizon and she doesn’t care, doesn’t care at all because she never thought she’d have this and she’s just so irrevocably, astoundingly happy.

 

“Had to one up me didn’t you, couldn’t help yourself.”

 

He runs his hands up her waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, grins like a shark because of it. “Shut up.” he mutters, biting at her bottom lip.

 

“Make me.”

 

He does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece of fanfic lmao I really love these characters and how people write them in a modern setting where they aren't literally tested in every emotional / physical / spiritual plane. I wanted to give them some easy Youthful Happiness, with each other bc like endgame af in my opinion. Anyways hope u liked it :)


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